


el niño

by justlikeswitchblades



Series: ivy and concrete [7]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Daiki realizes that Jason’s voice has been dropping; his son is becoming a man.





	el niño

**Author's Note:**

> pushing the envelope with "fanfiction' just a bit with this one...you should read the entire collection but reading [del escogido](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11309127) will make this make a lot more sense

Daiki wakes up to a sound that his ears have been getting more attuned to lately; the sound of the baby crying a few rooms away. He's always been the heavier sleeper between himself and Shintarou, but they adopted Jason when he was four; that was close to a decade ago, and aside from a few vicious thunderstorms, he mostly slept through the night. Maybe it's the happy anxiety that comes with having a newborn--he remembers having barely slept that first night home, on alert with every creak of the house. His coffee consumption has nearly doubled over the past month, though he knows Shintarou has been taking more than his equal share.

“My turn,” Daiki yawns when he feels Shintarou stir beside him, and swings his legs out of bed. He frowns at the blinking light on the baby monitor and the amplified wail that comes with it, and makes his way down the hall.

The nursery is dark, though the night-light plugged into the socket brings a touch of warmth into the room. Daiki hoists his daughter out of her crib and against his chest, cooing at her and the soft, balled-up fists on his shoulder. She keeps going, and for a second, Daiki panics; of course Shintarou is more suited to this, with his smooth hands and the cadence of his voice. But her wails turn to sobs as he makes his way to the kitchen, sobs to hiccups as he gets a bottle out of the fridge, and then, just plain hiccups once he pries the bottle away from her. She's still so small, her back scarcely bigger than all of his hand. It's a little past one, but Daiki sees a sliver of light shining out from under the basement door. Careful to not disturb his daughter, he heads downstairs.

“Jay,” Daiki squints at the video game playing on the TV, then to his son on the couch. “Don't you have school tomorrow?’

Jason’s hair is thick and wavy, about jaw-length, but never frizzy. He raises his eyebrows, pulling the oversized headphones off his ears, then sticks his hand between the couch cushions, pulling out a slim phone.

“Oh, shit.”

“Hey now,” Daiki sinks down into the loveseat with a yawn; the baby gurgles, her eyelids closed. “Language.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason snorts. “Maybe it makes sense when Dad says it, but you--”

“The rule doesn't apply to me,” Daiki grins. “Did you at least finish your homework?”

“Uh,” Jason thumbs the controller, flipping back to the start menu. “Yes?”

“C’mon Jay, you know that stuff’s important.”

“It's just once! Geez, which dad are you?”

“Yours,” Daiki tells him, with a measure of seriousness in his voice. “You get good grades, Jay. I used to slack off a lot when I was a teenager; it's not an easy habit to break. So you better not start forming it, okay?”

“Okay,” Jason sighs with the familiarity of having heard a paternal lecture one too many times, but he still smiles. He flips the TV off, the power button on the console pulsing a faint blue until he stands up and shuts it off, too. He walks by Daiki, grabbing and squeezing his extended hand. But then he pauses, and stays, reaching in to let his fingertips trail over the thin hairs on his sister's head.

“Hey,” Daiki looks up at Jason, his voice just above a whisper. “Wanna hold her?”

Jason hesitates; for a second, there's something unreadable in his face. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

Daiki stands up; Jason comes up to his shoulder, but has still yet to hit a significant growth spurt. He knows Jason has held her before; he knows he'll be careful. But he can't help putting Jason’s hand under her head, making sure he's supporting her. Jason holds her close, going stiff when she wriggles. Daiki cracks a grin.

“You okay?”

“I don't want her to cry,” Jason looks at Daiki with wide eyes, handing his sister back. Daiki accepts her back with a smile, pecking her forehead.

“It wouldn't be your fault, if you did. I'm sure all babies cry.” Jason looks down, frowning a little.

“I guess you don't know if I did, huh.”

“Not really,” Daiki sits back down again. “You didn't throw too many tantrums at night by the time we adopted you.” Jason frowns a little more, silent. Then he looks back up. 

“You and Dad are still happy with me, right? You still want me, don't you?”

“Jay…” Daiki exhales a soft laugh without thinking, his brows drawing together in mild confusion. “I don't know if I understand. Of course we do.” Jason swallows.

“It's just, you didn't adopt me when I was a baby, but now you have one, so--” Jason inhales, but it seems to get stuck in his throat. Daiki sees the tears misting in his eyes, and reaches for his hand. Jason sits down on the ottoman. Daiki sits next to him, sliding his free arm around his shoulders. 

“When your dad and I decided we wanted kids, we didn't want to have a baby right away. We didn't feel like we were ready. We wanted to have a kid that was a little older, that could assert himself,” laughs Daiki, “And _you_ had personality.”

“I know it's a little weirder, with your dad and I. We can't have a baby on accident; it takes planning, and time. I know how it might seem like we want something new; and y’know, sometimes it feels like we missed out. I wish I could have been able to see you walk, to hear you say your first word; but then I think about how much time we still have. So don't you ever feel like you're unwanted, because your dad and I love the hell out of you.” Daiki smiles, squeezing his shoulder. “Trust me; if I could still scoop you up as easily as this little one, I would.”

“You better not try it,” Jason sniffs, smiling. “You might hurt something.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” Daiki scoffs, though a grin comes back to his lips all too soon. Jason fits his arm around his waist in a half-hug, leaning into him for a brief moment. 

“Okay,” Daiki squeezes his shoulder again, then lets his hand go limp. “Head to bed now, kiddo. I'll see if I can make you breakfast in the morning.” Jason nods, making no effort to stifle a noisy yawn.

“You know, Dad’s usually the one who gets up at night to quiet her.”

“I know,” Daiki rubs at his neck, guilty. “I'm trying to change that.”

“He keeps going to bed earlier,” says Jason, his voice going soft. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” A beat. “His arm’s been bothering him lately, but it's nothing major.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jay, you don't need to worry--”

“I'm old enough to want to know the truth,” Jason insists over Daiki’s tired voice, forehead wrinkling with concern, loud enough to make the baby make a small noise. He winces and mouths an apology, but all Daiki can do is smile, endeared by it all. 

“We'll tell you if we need to.” 

Jason sighs, his body relaxing. He gets up, then pauses, his hand on the banister.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He trudges upstairs, his footfalls bringing a little weight with them, and Daiki realizes that Jason’s voice has been dropping; his son is becoming a man. The fact that Jason can still come to him and be open like this, honest, probing for answers, well--Daiki has always been a pretty openly affectionate parent. Is it strange for him to expect the same of his child?

Maybe it is; he's heard his friends talk, saying their kids are quieter, out of reach. Maybe it's a stage that Jason has yet to reach. But as far as Daiki can tell, Jason is more like Shintarou around his friends. Quieter, but also more introspective and polite than either of them were as kids, keeping his opinions to himself. He's drifted towards skateboarding, rather than a team sport. Daiki lays the baby down. He heads back to bed, his back pressed against Shintarou’s, finding himself fill with some kind of sad nostalgia.

***

Shintarou wakes up to Daiki's snoring and faint sunlight leaking into the bedroom around the blinds. It's just before six, and the first time in a month or so where he doesn't remember waking up in the middle of the night. He’s still yawning, but he's always been an early riser. There are always chores to do and miles to run, lucky items to secure, though Daiki has rubbed off on him over the years--the lull of his breathing tend to keeps him in bed for a few more minutes--with the exception of Saturdays, where Daiki is fiercely determined to make him breakfast, no matter the circumstances of the previous night. He rolls onto his side, moving close to Daiki laying on his back, fitting most of his head on his pillow. Within minutes, just when Shintarou reaches for his glasses, thinking he should get up, Daiki shifts onto his side, pulling Shintarou close.

“Baby woke up last night,” Daiki mumbles, voice heavy with sleep, pressing his face to Shintarou’s neck. “Kiddo was up too.”

Shintarou’s chest feels light; he can't the small, involuntary gasp. 

“He was trying to rock her back to sleep?”

“No, he was still awake,” Daiki stretches and pulls away, back onto his back, rubbing at his eyes. Shintarou feels his chest fall. He listens as Daiki fails to fight off a yawn, watches the fuzzy shape of him as he stares at the ceiling.

“Hey. The baby was a good decision, right?”

“Of course she was,” Shintarou frowns; it's too early for anger, but he only knows how to look cross when he's confused. “What are you saying?”

“Jay came to me last night,” sighs Daiki, looking at Shintarou. “Asked if we still wanted him.”

“That's ridiculous,” scoffs Shintarou. “We talked about it with him before we even started the process. It took us long enough to find a surrogate, and then, nine more months after that. He said he was okay with it. He had plenty of time to speak up.”

“Yeah, well,” Daiki shrugs. “Reality can always be different from what you expect. Besides, we're his parents; it's not like we ever gave him an option to say no. Not where both of us could win.”

“I don't mean to spring this on you,” continues Daiki, his voice going soft. “He asked about your arm, Momo.”

“My arm is fine,” Shintarou murmurs almost in protest, because it's halfway true; some mild level of pain is a baseline for him these days. His hand settles atop Daiki’s stomach, and Daiki weaves their fingers together.

“Sometimes I wonder--” Shintarou presses his lips into a frown, wanting to trap the thought in his mouth. “Sometimes I wonder why he always talks about these things with you.”

“Baby, don't,” Daiki squeezes Shintarou’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “You know he talks to you.”

“It's just--” Shintarou takes a breath, then sighs it out. “No, you're right. It shouldn't matter who he’s talking to. As long as he feels like he can come to us, we’re doing okay.”

“Exactly,” says Daiki, squeezing his hand again as if he's reassuring himself of the sentiment. “I don't think he really thought we didn't want him, but he just needed to hear it to be sure, you know?”

Shintarou nods, shifting down in bed so he can lay his head on Daiki’s chest. Daiki wraps his arms around him, kissing his hair.

“Do you want to make sure he won't miss the bus?”

“I don't know,” The corner of Shintarou’s mouth lifts with a small laugh. “Suddenly I'm feeling tired again.”

“I can go,” Daiki yawns. “I said I'd try to make him breakfast, but I could at least pour him a bowl of cereal…”

Shintarou snorts at that, his fingers curling around Daiki’s waist. He hears the shower kick on in another part of the house. 

“Then again, maybe we should give him some space. Till he comes home.”

Shintarou nods; he can't say he knows what he'd say to him, right now.

“I could go for another hour of sleep before we go jogging, anyways.”

Shintarou smiles. 

“Fine by me.”

***

Shintarou stands in front of Jason's bedroom door, checking his watch. It's 3:46; he's been home from school for a while now, but it's still not quite time to start making dinner. He inhales, then raps on the door, easing it open so he can step in.

“Hey. Catching up on homework?”

Jason looks up from his desk, smiling a little sheepishly when he sees Shintarou. “I guess Dad told you about last night, huh.”

“He did,” says Shintarou, sitting down on the corner of the bed--and that's really all he had prepared. He sits, quiet for a moment longer, staring at the hamper across the room, half-full of dirty laundry

“Jason, your father and I--You can always--”

“Come to you when I need to talk. Yeah, I know,” Jason sighs, and while Shintarou knows nothing of last night’s mild sarcasm, Jason just sounds tired now. The fact that his son sounds like this, has felt and struggled with the idea that he wasn’t wanted--it’s more than enough to break Shintarou’s heart.

“Dad and I talked about it last night. I guess I feel a little better, but,” Jason laughs quietly, looking down at the thick carpet. He twists a divot into it with a socked foot. “Not all the way.”

“Is--” Shintarou clenches at a fistful of comforter, fighting to keep his voice even. He’s the parent here. But something about Jason has always knocked his guard down, smiles and laughs and tears bubbling out of him; some emotions of his still aren’t ones Daiki has immediate access to. “What can we do to help you?”

“Wait, maybe?” Jason shrugs, sinking down into his chair, the top rail pressing into his cheek. “I don’t feel good about it, _Otou-san._ I know you and Dad are happy. I want to be happy, too. I think I am--she’s cute and all, but it’s…”

He trails off, sighing again, and Shintarou is tempted to echo it. He doesn’t know what to say. Sure, he had a little sister, but he can’t remember not having a little sister. This is different, especially now that he’s a parent. He feels like he’s failed, in a way, to not anticipate this. It makes him long for the days when Jason used to get a scrape, or dropped a half-finished ice cream cone in the summer, running into Shintarou’s arms, or latching onto him tighter if he was already being held, blubbering with fat tears. At least Shintarou knew how to solve the black and white issues. Now he can’t remember the last time that happened; there’s him, Jason, and the bedroom carpet spanning the few feet between them, along with the shape of teenage masculinity they’re both trying to parse, with the potential of negating emotion and affection. It’s different, but similar, Shintarou thinks, to the emotional and physical walls of his that Daiki had to chip away at back when they were kids. He can’t stop those walls from being built now; Jason is becoming his own person. But he still wants a way in.

“...You could help with the baby on the weekends?”

“You wouldn’t be alone with her,” Shintarou is quick to continue, seeing something like panic cross Jason’s features. “I don’t expect you to help out when she cries at night. But you could help feed her, or change a diaper,” Shintarou smiles when Jason wrinkles his nose. “Something small.”

“I want it to work,” Jason agrees after a moment, smiling back. “We can try.”

“I do, too.” 

Shintarou rises from the bed, and some of the weight lifts from his chest. Jason doesn’t flinch when he crosses the space between them, smiling when Shintarou gives his hair a little ruffle.

“You don’t want me to cut it, do you?”

“No,” Shintarou smiles a little wider. “Between your father, the baby, and myself, someone in this family needs to have nice hair.”

Jason grins at that. His gaze lands on Shintarou’s arm, and some of the ambivalence finds its way back into his expression.

“I made an appointment to see a doctor next week,” Shintarou tells him, smiling at the unvoiced concern. “You don’t need to worry about it, okay?”

“Good,” Jason smiles again, relief visible in the slope of his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Jason. Anything for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> jason and aomine typically have conversations in spanish, jason and midorima typically talk in japanese, jason's full name is jason enrique aomine and i didn't name their daughter because im already in way too deep


End file.
